


Alpha and Omega

by ScarlettsLetters



Series: Casualties of Desire [1]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anticipation, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bondage, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes-centric, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Penetration, Embarrassment, F/M, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rimming, Romance, Rope Bondage, Smut, Spreader Bars, Threesome - F/M/M, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-02-09 23:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12899115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarlettsLetters/pseuds/ScarlettsLetters
Summary: Natasha and Steve concoct a plan to show Bucky just how glad they are he's back, by leaving him spent, stuffed, and satisfied. He's going to stretch himself in ways he never imagined.





	1. White Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is the worst time for Bucky, deprived of good memories through his long, long history. Natasha and Steve contrive to do something about that.

“Nobody’s expecting anything big. Just a small miracle would do.” Natasha dragged her thumb around the rim of her white mug, looking across clinging foam and creamy brew at the blond man. 

He might have the looks of a leading man, but right then, the haunted expression on Steve's face dispelled the stirrings of desire and lust his grin normally conjured. Not today. 

The weight of her pointed gaze pressed right against the thick knot of guilt weighing down on his heart. The serum infused throughout his body might allow him to heal from damn near any wound. It didn’t do a thing for emotional pain. 

His chair squeaked as he shifted, sitting up straighter. “A small miracle,” he repeated. Buying for time gave him a chance to steel himself for the blow.

That was how things worked between them on the little matter of James Buchanan Barnes. During a flurry of punches, Natasha dropped a bombshell about Bucky’s progress. Steve withstood her kicks and punches, but one word about his best friend slid around his guard to shiv him between the ribs. They jogged through Battery Park to the point of their lungs burning and legs knotted by lactic acid, and she chose the last killer mile to remind him about a backslide in his progress. 

Red Room training focused on exploiting psychological vulnerabilities as much as physical ones. He swallowed the bitter taste of coffee. “A small miracle, huh?”

She watched him brace himself in the seat over the remnants of their breakfast. The corner of her mouth teased slightly higher, not quite reaching a smile. 

“He was talking about retreating upstate to get away.” A pause pregnant with anticipation hung between them, while the weak crackle of activity throughout the café oscillated in the background. 

“Getting out of the city could be good for him, Nat. It’s not like he gets much fresh air in the middle of Manhattan.” Steve turned his mug around, still holding her gaze. He wouldn’t flinch away.  _ Could she be reading too much into it?  _

Nat arched her eyebrows, the upward slide measuring his statement and finding it wanting. Even the first Avenger, the greatest hero, proved sometimes blindingly ignorant to other people’s motives and emotions. His biggest hole was a broad-shouldered, brown-haired man with haunted, icy eyes, and they both knew it, 

“Getting away from  _ us _ ,” she casually emphasized the word for him, “for Christmas. No decorating trees or bad movies or carols for him. He’s hiding.”

Steve closed his fist and opened his fingers again. A dusting of memory rattled around in his thoughts, emerging from the depths. Empty apartments in Brooklyn, trimmed in a scraggly line of silver tinsel and a few cards hung crooked on a sweep of twine. Raucous singing down the sidewalk as he walked arm in arm with the taller, dark-haired kid who deliberately twisted the lyrics of holiday classics. 

The brief twitch of his mouth didn’t get close to the full magnitude of his grin, the one that sent a dazzling flock of birds skyward in her core. She cased the café again, habit ingrained over the years, assessing everyone who entered or trotted out carrying paper cups in both hands. 

“It’s his second Christmas free. The light and noise, the sheer hubbub -- that’s asking a lot, Nat. The peace and quiet might be exactly what he wants.” Steve winced at his own tone. 

“Let him lick his wounds a hundred miles from the people who love him?”

Natasha tried to keep the acid from sinking into her tone. She set the mug down before she cracked the ceramic body by clenching it too hard. Her mouth tightened, the perfect cherry red compressed line a slice across her creamy skin. 

God, she hit below the belt on that one. Steve closed his eyes. All he needed to imagine Bucky sitting alone in some dismal cabin, hollow-eyed, nursing a bottle of vodka or looking for a gun to clean.  _ Who would bring him back down when he woke up screaming from the nightmares?  _

His stomach clenched. Not so far a logical step to imagining the Winter Soldier ghosting through a gloomy Russian forest, sniper rifle strapped over his back. Steve started in his seat, blinking to clear the vision that acid etched itself into his memory. 

“I can ask him, but prepare for him to turn me down.”

She reached over to put her hand on his fist. “When has he // _ ever _ // said no to you?” 

He swallowed again. “You make it sound like we’re not giving him much of a choice. He deserves better--”

“He deserves the best.” She squeezed. “Come on. I can convince him to show up, and you make the pitch why it’s worth staying here rather than hiding in a foxhole in the middle of nowhere.”

_ No pressure, or anything.  _ He nodded anyways, turning his hand over to allow her smaller palm to ghost over his and their fingers to entwine together.    
  
He’d never tire of the feeling of her skin, the gentle strength promised by slim digits that wielded a gun as confidently as a pen. Her face softened and allowed some of the concern to slough off, revealing the care and hope to shine through. 

While no one else directly looked their way, too absorbed in their own laptops and newspapers, Steve shyly turned his head and bussed her cheekbone with his lips. 

  
“If that’s your negotiation tactic, Rogers, you better work on your approach. That won’t get you out of the driveway, let alone in bed.” Natasha’s lips branded his ear, and she sat back in her seat. 

He raised his hands, and barked an embarrassed laugh. ”It’s worked pretty good so far.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly; the mask was back in place, solid and steady. The glimmer he held of the caring friend, the worried partner, vanished behind the hard, flinty lines trained for espionage in any theatre of modern war she chose. He sometimes feared how fast she exchanged masks. Could he ever be sure whom he spoke to? 

The redheaded assassin shook her head. “For pretty blonde girls next door and your adoring masses. Not your best friend.” 

Steve ran his hand over his hair, and a few pieces stuck straight up. “Let me think about how to the right way. Trust me. Something will come to me.” He hoped none of the doubt rolled through his words the same way it did in his mind. Resolve hardened around the memories of his best friend, hunched over in pain, crying out in fear. “I got this, Nat.” 

“Good, because  _ your _ balls are on the line if he runs off.” She scowled at the tabletop.

“Hey.” Cupping her hand between his, he gave that almost shy smile again. “No need for that kind of talk. Bucky deserves the best memories we can make. No one left behind this Christmas, or ever. I promise, we won’t let him down.”

He never intended to deliver a speech like he occasionally turned on green, new recruits facing impossible odds. Truth be told, he said those words as much for himself as Natasha, but his conviction pushed aside the distinct unease he might be entering a grey area of inexperience.  _ Not that he ever intended to push Bucky into something he didn’t want, but… _

Natasha licked her lips and blew out a sigh. “You have that look again, Rogers. I trust you but I need you to trust my instincts. He wants this. He may not know how to ask, but he has wanted and needed us both for a long, long time.” 

“Yeah.” He gave a lopsided little smile. “Mission go?”

“Mission go.” Pushing back her chair with an unseemly squeak, she stood from the table and gave him a bright, cocky grin that socked the breath out of his lungs every damn time. “Welcome to the party, Captain Rogers. Objective, give James Barnes a Christmas he won’t forget, and demonstrate our love for him. Remember to bring the party favours, and that means condoms. You’re going to need them.”

It was worth saying just to watch him stammer and splutter in her wake.


	2. The Presentation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky confronts the consequences of impulse buying, spurred on by the Black Widow.

The innocuous cardboard box lay on the bed, dimpling the taut navy duvet. Nothing about it deserved the care usually dictated by federal regulations around transporting spent nuclear material. A single strip of packing tape curled in monochrome coils against the side, holding guard in case anyone drew near. The peaked cardboard flaps barely concealed the contents.

He longed to pretend the guts of the box were oiled bronze shower curtain rings or comical oven mitts. Illegal ammunition, a suspicious quantity of vibranium stuffed among the puffy plastic cells.

Afraid of a damn box. Bucky peeled the bit of tape off his metal fingers, buffing out the smudges left by the sticky residue. Give him two targets armed with semi-automatic pistols, at point blank range, in the back streets around the Kremlin. But not this.

Instead, he stared at the oblong charcoal lozenge swaddled in plastic and the long bundle of diamond-braided white rope, placed neatly side by side. The infinity loop drew a sharp distinction against shadowy, glistening surface.

Afraid of a damn plug and rope. Seriously.

He stared from the doorway for longer than he cared to admit. He might have for hours if not for the silhouette ghosting at the periphery of his vision.

How redheads snuck around thinking they could melt into the background never ceased to amaze him, especially the curvaceous, nimble woman haunting his waking days and spicing his nights. She approached on silent feet, raising her hand to deliver an open-palmed smack to his backside.

He turned in time to catch her wrist before her fingers reached his ass. He almost felt the anticipatory bow wave of air breaking against his jeans. Her fingers strained wide, nails scraping along denim as he pulled her arm up and spun her around.

Natasha acceded to the request, making an easy pirouette to bring them face to face. Her breasts pressed up against his t-shirt, smothering the large bullseye target centered on a star.

He’d never tire of feeling the heavy weight rolling against his pectoral muscles, the gumdrops of her tight nipples rubbing through the thin, stretchy black cotton. He considered tweaking one, but the natural fit of his arm around the narrow curve of her waist aborted that notion.

Enfolded in the faint scent of oranges and spice, he breathed in the essence of the woman almost greedily. It distracted him from the box.

“Did the parcel finally show up? They promised two day shipping,” Nat asked, straining to look past his broad shoulder. No concealing the package in its oblong glory.

Bucky bumped her forehead with his chin and skimmed lower along her nose, seeking her lips with his. Natasha kissed him, a brief, fleeting bus more to dissuade him from pursuing further distractions. Her arms slid away from his neck and she leaned to reach it.

Clutching her a little longer prevented her from slanting perfectly horizontal after the offending cardboard package. Her fingers dusted the corner and Bucky loosened his grip, reluctant to release her dark-clad body.

“Oh, you already opened it without permission.” Natasha crawled across the bed and curled up on her side, pulling her treasures to her lap. Her eyes flashed full of promise, for all that her carmine stung lips formed a smile. “You’ll be punished for that.”

Heat flared along his cheekbones, a prickling bloom. He tipped his head, dark hair falling from around his ears. “I didn’t know what was inside.”

“You could guess.” She wagged her finger, then slid the flaps apart. Her hand dipped into the packing flotsam and pulled out the thick spool of soft rope.

 

His eyes were fixed to its supple curves, the sinuous, deadly promise found in every arc. Specialty order straight from a warehouse, the finest creation Japan could offer. His stomach tightened, and he shifted his weight slightly.

Hopeless to assume she would overlook that. Her gaze flowed down the triangle of his torso and landed square below the belt, measuring with a practiced eye. “Bucky.”

Her voice darkened to a satiny whisper, looping around his mind and cinching tight with a tug.

“Yeah.”

“We okay?”

He nodded, not trusting his voice to produce anything other than a strangled noise. His dignity was on the line. She traced another loop and held out her hand.

“Come and pet it.” Oh, made a spool of rope sound like a drowsy kitten, and he knew it represented no harm, but the frosty fears in their ancient, bloody prison stirred all the same. Not the only thing stirring.

Blood rushed below his waistband, uncomfortably tightening the fit of his jeans. No way to disguise that from Natasha, either. They both knew what was coming.

He reached out to skim his fingers along the unusual diamond braiding, the texture smooth rather than remotely rough. Silk and cotton wound together for an exceptionally durable product, surprisingly soft given the possibilities. Bucky licked his lips.

“Yeah. It’s fine,” he murmured, pulling his hand away. She caught him at the wrist, fingers warm on his skin.

The electric thrill shattered the lines of propriety, stinging his nerves and pooling further south. “Fine, Bucky? Is that how you really feel?”

He averted his eyes. No matter how good it felt, certain things just weren’t done his day and age. Men behaved in a certain way, in and out of the bedroom. They certainly did not entertain notions involving rope and balletic redheads. Or the other gift he ordered online on a lark, committing himself with two clicks of a button to a course he wasn’t sure he could follow through on.

Her palm caressed the lengthening hardness trapped behind the tough coppery zipper. Instinct pushed him into her curved grip, the welcoming heat saturating him. She teased her nails along, raising stippled, serpentine bands that left him straining for more.

“No,” she purred from the bed and waited on him. Her dark, fiery hair came undone from the elastic half-hearted in its guardianship of the braid, and loose waves unwound around in a shadowy halo.

The sight made his throat clench. He swallowed again. “Sweetheart... “

“Tell me what you want.” A simple question, and loaded in every way. _C’mon, baby. Say the words_.

The last two days since making the order proved to be hell. He clicked the button and retreated to his nocturnal routine: a shower, stripping down to his boxers, sleeping. Or that’s how he hoped the routine played out. Though he refrained from jacking off in the shower, he had to give himself permission when lying in bed.

Natasha had spent an hour longer downstairs, preparing something for Steve. She encouraged him to take his pleasure as he needed, even if she was unavailable. Still, the guilty thoughts chased the vibrant images of the rope wound around his wrists and tied through the headboard. The visions skewed from her brilliant fire-soaked mane spilled over his thighs to the softer golden crew cut of his best friend between his legs. Another time, the idea of getting a blowjob from his best friend stopped him cold. Not over forty-eight hours of lust driven hell.

In his fantasies, he couldn’t reach either, but his hand jerked fast and firm up his thickened cock and he shot cum halfway to his throat with that image burned in his head.

Just once, he intended. Once. Once became four times the next day, stolen in rapid order. The rope twisting around his forearms and keeping him from touching. Unable to guide them, the best he could imagine was thrusting his hips up and hoping his lover’s warm mouth -- Steve’s, Natasha’s, damn near anyone’s -- offered consolation.

She had to know. She certainly must now, his cock stiff and aching for release from his clothes. Oh, fuck. He bit his lip. There was no turning back. Every morning came like a hangover after dizzying dreams. His wrists practically burned for the sensation of the braceleting rope.

“I want…”

She waited, patient as a statue.

“I want to be tied up. Tied up and fucked.” There. He said the truth, coals burning on his tongue. Heat flooded over his cheeks.

Natasha lurched forward on her hip, only an inch, but a visible sway as the elastic snap of anticipation followed his quiet, hoarse admission. Wetness gathered and spread between her thighs, heat blooming into sticky petals to the sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha uses that Red Room training on Bucky to build the slow burn of anticipation. Pacing speeds up from here on out, I hope.

Bucky’s cheeks burned hot as the ember trapped against his jeans. He buried his face in his hands, cool metal stinging his rough skin. A gentle pressure on his wrist pulled down on the vibranium and steel screen, bars dividing him from Natasha’s concerned face.

He could love her a little just or those wide, calm eyes offering no judgment. Her mouth softened a little, the promise of a smile wiped away. 

Her thumb brushed down the contour of his wrist, pushing his arm wide from his chest. Though a jerk of his shoulder could throw her halfway across the room, he obliged the wordless request. 

“Hey. Truth is never a bad thing.”

“I know.” His head still hung low, dark hair a messy veil over his profile. He glanced up to the run of her fingertips against his jawline, no force there forcing him to meet her gaze again.

Natasha arched her brows a little. 

Fear and longing bled together. For an instant, her fingertips were rougher, the diamond weave of the rope, the callused swirl of broader, wider digits. Lust shot through his belly in a treacherous haze, his stormy eyes going sleepy as a hawk. He unpeeled his tongue from his palate. “ _ Pravda _ .” 

At the two syllables in Russian, her breath hitched. “ _ Pravda _ .” 

She had been the one to give him the idea of a safeword, initially for dealing with dark fugues brought on by sparring sessions. Only natural he implemented it for their later for bouts of lovemaking. 

Pravda, truth. A reminder he no longer served Arnim Zola or the whims of Hydra, and those dark moments spurred by stress were illusions compared to the real. 

They faced one another on the bed, Bucky kneeling and arching his back as the tension torqued higher, the rope separating him from Natasha. She felt the dense, intimidating weight of the plug against her shin, rolled into the hollow her weight dented into the mattress. A quiver that ran through her core shook every time her focus strayed away from the beautiful, carved face of an ancient Greek statue down. 

Everything hinged on her response. She ran her hand from his face to his shoulder, down the hard, muscular planes along his bicep. The even tone of her voice made a demand from the request, no room for mistaking her interpretation. “Lie down, James.”

The response came immediately. He dropped onto his back beside her, stretching his legs out and folding his arms over his head. If she didn’t know better, she might imagine he intended to take an afternoon lap. The rigid bar of his cock straining against his jeans put paid to the notion. Soon.

Unspooling the rope came easily enough to her practiced fingers. She remained where she was, the sinuous rise of her breasts and the curve of her hip partly blocking her diligent work. White reels gathered in her lap, spilling over the side.

“Damn,” Bucky said in spite of himself. The jackhammer beat of his pulse threaded through his veins, bringing on that unfamiliar lightheaded feeling of champagne bubbles popping in his skull. “How much is there? I’ll be a mummy before you finish.”

“Silence, sergeant.” Her rougher Russian accent welled up as she formed an open loop with the excess, casual as she twisted to guide his wrist through. The initial quiver ran brow to toes, but he remained flat on the bed. Any suggestion of relaxation fell apart upon the most cursory sort of inspection, his belly clenched and quads already bunching in anticipation. Adrenaline put a damper on desire unless managed properly.

Years of Widow training pit against his natural resistance and there really wasn’t a hope. Natasha smoothly twined the short end of the rope through the eyelet rings on the headboard, the supple hiss music to her ears. 

He glanced away from her, face turned to the pillow. If he didn’t have to see, the reality might not trigger the building unease conditioned into him. His toes curled, balls of his feet rubbing against the sheet. Good amount of leverage still, though not for long.

As though she read his mind, the redhead turned and leaned over his outstretched arm for the nightstand. Sweat dappled his brow when she drew the drawer open, pulling out a wickedly sharp knife. 

“The rope won’t cut itself,” she said. “I certainly do not intend to mummify you, but you will look spectacular when I am done with you.” 

“Nat.” Her name blended a prayer and a groan. 

The dark blade barely glittered in her talented hands. She sawed through the resilient cord, forming several equal lengths and setting them aside. Not once did she look his way until satisfied with partitioning the spool into workable alabaster webs ready to confine any man in her literal web.

His back arched, intermittent spasms racing down below his navel to the growing hardness. Tremors did nothing to dislodge his trapped shaft from its denim prison or ease the pooling heat in that constricted space, and she damn well knew it. He caught her licking her carmine lips from the corner of his eye.

“ _ Nat _ .” A little more force this time.

She casually cinched the slackness out of the loop around his wrist, pinning his arm tight up against the headboard as punctuation for his impertinence, straddling the line of acceptable behaviour. They both knew the line and how close Bucky walked it. He lay still, quiescent and panting, as she fed the coil through three more bolts and lowered the ends to caress his forearm. 

Living flesh was no match for the rope. Its serpentine kiss and her warm breath left goosebumps stippling his pale skin. Lips branded a red kiss at the inside of his wrist, a tattoo she promptly wrapped up in three rotations of the diamond-weave he chose specifically for its symmetry and softness. The description did not disappoint him with the final product. It slithered and tugged over him without pulling on the fine hairs on his arm, though too much struggling would leave a pink bracelet.

Her laughter vibrated against his elbow as she stooped to kiss the outstretched limb. “Admiring yourself a little too much. I better do something about that.”

Indolence slowed the roll of his head in her direction, and he stared at her. “What?” Desire burned in his voice, threading slow copper lines through his veins. He never fell so fast into arousal.

The rose blush spread over his cheeks again, popping up, fresh flowers after a spring rain. 

“None of that.” She slid off the bed and he jerked when she produced a long black sash, spread out between her fingers. 

“Sweetheart, no.” His protest fell upon the spontaneous buck of his hips, those damnable jeans dragging in the worst possible way. The opaque linen slid over the pillow, drifting upon his hair, pulled closer.

“Lift your head. For me.” A critical pause there changed everything. She trusted he heard the intention laid out before her. Had to. Someone trained to the apex of perception in urban spycraft never overlooked the faltering pause of a lie or the subtle distinctions that changed the meaning of a statement.

His neck muscles strained to accommodate the awkward elevation, and Natasha slid the ends of the blindfold underneath. She tied off a quick bow that left enough room for comfort, and not a finger more.

“Worries me you got this so downpat, you know. The Red Room had you practicing on mannequins a little too well.”

“Live volunteers.”

His heart dropped like a stone. Swaddled in warm darkness tinged by the faint orange perfume of her hair, his arousal soared to the bleeding edge, still straddling apprehension driven in by old memories that never dwelled far out of sight. 

Her hand stroked his hair and the other tweaked his nipple through his shirt. Cotton buffered the growing pressure of her insistent fingertips, but he caught his breath when she pulled up. The nub slid through the vise, swelling as she pinched her nails into the skin and dragged blood through the pebbled peak. 

His breathing went ragged and he complied with the unspoken demand, forced to stillness to let the maestra perform her incipient masterpiece. His nipple smarted and the other throbbed in anticipation of a touch. 

Natasha pulled the bobbypins from her hair, prying the waxed ends open. Opportunity only struck once and rarely waited on the doorstep.  _ Yes, this was going to be perfect.  _

“Be still,” she said as she slid the bobbypin around the base of his nipple, capturing a bit of the shirt in the process. When she released the ends, the hairpin compressed and flattened the base, leaving the nub standing erect and proud. The groan torn from him supplied the only barely audible reaction he gave.

She repeated the process on the other side, coaxing the captured point to stiffness and assuring the drama of the effect by pinning it same as the other. By that point, his cock jerked of its own accord against his tented jeans. She needed to work quickly.

Wrapping off the extra rope to the footboard took only a minute or two, though she used the boa constrictor length to reach the bolts driven into the floor for extra protection. Bucky’s rattling breaths above her spurred the redhead to hasten her tie-offs and loops, if she dared admit it to herself. 

He started at the touch to his ankle, and instinct drove him to hold his legs rather tightly together as her insistent tension on the rope built. The resistance originated from the ornery Brooklyn-raised corner of his mind, where a charming scrapper still survived the ordeals of Siberia and Berlin and Budapest. 

“Don’t make me get the spreader bar.” Dark warning rolled through her sharp retort.

“No way you have a…”

Her weight left the bed.  _ Oh shit _ . 

Lips branded his ear a moment later. “That’s two things to punish you for, Barnes.” Nat was glad for the blindfold, so he could not see her sliding her fingers against the seam of her pants. Her palm pressed hard to her slit, rubbing back and forth, the sweet friction along the heel of her hand battering her clit. “Try saying what you want with a please, you just might get it. You got tied up. This your way of telling me you want your thighs spread wide open too?”

He almost choked on his tongue, and the lightning strike to his brain limited any sort of coherent verbal response. That alone told them both volumes. 

His jaw remained firmly shut, muscles working. Good enough, then. She kissed his knuckles and straightened. “As you wish. Stay put.”

“Like I have a choice?”

“Three infractions, Barnes. Watch your mouth.” 

That quiver ran through him again, melting whatever restraint normally curbed him against impulse. Oh, once he had been the kid charging into danger. He made a legacy off accompanying the greatest hero the Allies had, armed with no more than his wits and ingenuity, a normal soldier alongside supernatural powers and Steve Rogers, the poster child for Erskine’s brilliance. 

Rope sang through metal and he tested his limbs. They wouldn’t move much without real force, and the secure bonds held him spread eagle, certain to be  _ more _ spread out if Natasha spoke true. She had no reason to bother with a lie. 

“Just one more thing.” Her voice slid through the seductive heat haze painted against his imagination. The pressure on his cock increased for a moment, and abruptly vanished when she tugged the zipper low. His midnight-blue silk boxers provided minimal resistance to his shaft springing up, pointing hard to his navel. Smooth, fast strokes corrected the angle just a bit, the one spot of luxury in his clothing dragged out of the way.

Natasha released him and stared at the sight of the blindfolded man laid out for her, his phallus hard as marble and dark, beckoning for mouth or fingers or pussy. Perfection in every sense. Her training held through the jellying of her knees, and she stepped back. One more step, another, she’d be at the door.

Bucky was used to waiting. Rarely in this situation. Being strapped down naked in the shivering darkness of a disused Siberian scientific facility was not entirely different from being bound to a bed, really, except in every fucking possible way. He wanted this, when he got right down to it. 

“Be right back,” she called out from a thousand miles away. What else could he do? 

The Winter Soldier sank into the prickling, hot darkness and dreamt of wanton, terrible, perfect things, just as intended.


	4. Confessionals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha set the stage, now Steve has his moment in the limelight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave me any comments. As ever, this is a work in progress and I am striving to develop the characters' voices alongside the sensual entanglements.

A lump the size of Pike’s Peak wedged itself in Steve’s throat, allowing barely any air to whistle through his flared nostrils. Arousal dripped on the air and he reacted without thought, drinking in the tableau created by an expert hand.

Low winter light slatted through the angled blinds, suffused the apartment bedroom with a dreamy luminosity that heightened contrast of shadows and deepened the jewel hues. The navy bedspread spilled in a sapphire-tinged sea under the centerpiece, a man in heather grey and rumpled indigo, all the more dramatic a backdrop for pale skin on display. Inviting cream showed at the strained sinews in Bucky’s throat, bordered by the damp collar and raised hem of his shirt that attested to the soldier not resting quietly.

Dark hair flew in all directions, clinging to his brow and the blindfold banding his eyes. All the same, Steve saw his best friend’s clenched jaw and tight mouth. Under any other circumstances, he would be at the bedside, ripping the artistic display of knotted prowess to shreds.

White strands anchored in geometric lines struck an oddly harmonious balance to organic curves and the exquisitely crafted Soviet-made metal prosthetic secured to the headboard. So captivated by the different bold planes, Steve practically forgot about the telescoping steel rod stretched almost three feet wide near the end of the bed.

The connecting cuffs stole underneath the legs of the tailored jeans. He looked twice, and appreciated the effect of the wide black leather ringing Bucky’s ankles like sawed-off combat boots, an odd effect called to mind. His lips twitched up in a smile, the ghostly response extinguished with the mule kick of building tension deep, so deep, in the flesh.

Bucky gritted his teeth and shifted upon the mattress, the links surrendering a symphonic melody to any and all acting as audience. The golden-haired man watching clenched a fist. For all the brunet man was no stranger to being put on display, this came close to torture.

“Look at how hard he is,” Natasha whispered from the hall. “Hasn’t changed since I bound him.”

“You are certain about this?”

She refused to grace him with a verbal answer, crossing her arms over her chest. Her nipples stood out almost as far as Bucky’s, and Steve choked on his breath seeing the bobbypins poking out from the cotton shirt.  

The damn bar forced his knees wide apart, an inviting spread to anyone who might care to put him out of his misery.

What would he give, in the same position, to feel something other than cool air brushing over the engorged purple corona and caressing his full, heavy sack? Steve swallowed hard again. He had never seen Bucky this way. Sure, been curled up tight in a foxhole in the Ardennes under heavy bombardment back in the war, and showered together, but those moments gave little privacy and certainly no time to act.

Here he was, admiring how tight his best friend’s balls were, how eagerly he wanted salvation from the physical torment he asked for. Nat had been clear on that.

He followed the natural zigzag to the piece de resistance, the thick length of Bucky’s cock standing sentry over his flexing, tight abdomen. The split in the parted fly revealed much, his balls tucked tight up against the root and a glistening clear line of drops running down the great vein.

Tearing his gaze away left him staring at the redhead off his elbow. She inclined her head.

“God, Nat…”

“No god involved in this,” she gave her ghostly smile in return. Old vestiges of Soviet training never really left.

Steve steadied his shoulder against the door and Bucky, sensing something, turned his head to the open entrance. His body shuddered, a pulse of wetness dribbling slowly from his tip.

 _This is it. Now or never_. Captain Rogers, hero of the war, leader of the Avengers, stayed by the door. In his place came Steve Rogers, about to deliver a grace he barely understood, driven by needs that never would have occurred to him without awakening in a more liberal, enlightened age. He straightened a fraction and stepped into the room, Natasha his faithful shadow.

The soldier held his breath for a few seconds. “Who’s there?”

The question felt a bit too practiced, an old routine for Buck and Nat. He couldn’t focus now on what they did on their own. Not if he wanted to walk the fifteen steps to the bed.

Bucky didn’t ask a second time. For the better, because Steve lacked the means to summon so much as a word. He appreciated the distance given to him by the Russian woman, within arm’s reach but not smothering him while he executed a full circuit around the bed.

The first pass, he only dared to look up close at the elaborate work. All this for him. For them. Even his uneducated eye caught the fine slip knots, the careful way she left arms loose to escape if need be.

The second time, slower, he dared to feel. One finger traced the damnable metal bar and found the tension buttons holding the three segments into a single unyielding frame wedging the soldier’s ankles so obscenely far. Bucky tried to drag his knees up but managed about a centimeter before the ropes halted his progress.

On the third walk around, he stopped by the left side of the bed, leaving the right to Natasha’s wordless presence. He plucked the taut white strand hard, watching the vibration travel through the eyebolts and down upon the poised arm dragged up higher. Bucky blew out sharp and short through his nose, and sweat stippled his dark temples, raindrops blown by a warm night wind.

“Please.” One word. The soldier in him knew the game. The man refused to bow, too proud.

Steve hesitated. The pitch, his time up to bat. Only one chance to get it right. He locked eyes with Natasha, who offered her secretive little smile.

He scraped his knuckles over his brow, and swallowed. How many times he could repeat the words in his head, how hollow and foreign they sounded now confronted by his best friend, and his partner, wrapped up in the Black Widow’s web. So fucking hard.

“Buck.” The soft tone made a bead for the bound man to zero in on with laser accuracy. Shock drained out the colour, and Bucky raised his head as far as he could. Steve ached all over, the flames chasing an icy pang cracking something vital under his composure. “I know the last couple weeks haven’t been easy on you. I had a tough time adjusting after I came out of the ice too. Without some good friends to help, I never would have found my place again.”

Natasha remained a statue, stock still and beautiful, off to the side. He was put in mind of a wolf scenting the air, Bucky giving away nothing.

He refused to look away, meeting the blinded visage facing him. “You have us, no matter what. ‘Til the end. I meant what I said. You took a gamble sticking around in New York, especially at this time of year. Now I’m going to take one. I want to make things right for you. No more running and hiding. Tonight, will you let me give you what you need? Whatever that is, however it is. If I can give it, I will.”  

“Fucking hell,” Bucky gasped out.

“Language.” Steve couldn’t stop that if he tried.

The bark of laughter followed him falling back onto the bed, no longer straining at his bonds. Steve coloured, unseen to him. That damn blindfold scratched at his prickling pink cheeks. “That how you swept Peg off her feet? I’m not a blushing girl on her first tour. I’m a fucked up basket case barely holding it together. This… this was a bad idea. You can’t...”

She grimaced and held out a hand in warning, stopping Steve from advancing. The brief shake of her head threw her loose auburn waves over her shoulders. _Wait_ , she mouthed at him.

“I’m here.” His hand slid down the rope and found flesh, the sleeve pulled up over the firm bicep of Bucky’s right arm. He leaned awkwardly over the bed, but delivered the squeeze anyways. “This is not about Peggy or anyone but us.” Not that Peggy ever understood. A different time, different expectations. “I don’t rightly know everything either. That doesn’t mean I _won’t_ try. I can and I will. Question is, do you want me to…”

He swallowed. Bucky made not a sound or movement, rigid, waiting on that slow break.

Steve found his voice again. “Do you want me to have you like Natasha does?”

“You mean sleep with me. Do I want you to sleep with me.” The sting hid something deeper, vast and dark and nameless, and they all knew it. Bucky’s tone slid almost deadpan.

Nat’s eyes gleamed in the low light. Steve lowered his head until his nose practically brushed against Bucky’s cheek, a line traced at a diagonal when the sergeant blindly sought him out. _Now or never._

“Yeah. I do.” His mouth grazed tentatively against the corner of Bucky’s lips, a guide more than anything. The meeting of their lips was nothing gentle, not the kiss of tentative lovers but a man drowning and stealing the last sacred breath from the lungs.

The cracking moan shared between them came free of someone’s throat, but Steve knew not where or whom. His hands landed to either side of Bucky’s shoulders, and he poured out all the words he had no way to speak into the vicissitude of the deepened kiss.

Bucky jerked under his bonds, suddenly alive and almost frantic. He melted under the incandescent heat and thrust his hips hopelessly upwards, finding no escape. Natasha slid against the hollow of his side, stretching out, cupping his face and running her hand over his chest.

When the kiss broke for air, his voice scored the air. “ _Please_. Oh god, Steve. Nat.”

The winding coils of rope shuddered and tugged as he tried without success to free himself, and the revelations nailed spikes of urgent, mad need through his flesh. “Fuck me _._ Please fuck me, please…”

He didn’t have to ask a third time.


	5. Dismantling Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.  
> \-- Rumi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short burst this time around. This is what happens when you have an eager learner and an expert teacher.

Not in his wildest dreams did he anticipate Natasha and Steve’s plan. Was plan the right word? 

Bucky lay in an imbroglio of tangled sheets and roving hands, tugging at his shirt to expose more of his bare chest to the pitiless sunlight seeping, thief-like, through cracks in the blinds. Smooth rope wound about his wrists, denying the opportunity to more than curl his fingers through gold or flame-drenched hair when they ducked close enough for contact. Impulse encouraged by Natasha led to the purchase of rope and a plug from a website swearing by discretion. That much he wrapped his mind around. Nowhere in the past two days did Steve Rogers enter the equation except the dark moments when he arched into his own fist in the shower or bedroom, interchangeably imagining Steve or Nat between his legs.

But he wasn’t seriously imagining his straight-laced best friend consenting to sex, much less with his arms anchored to the headboard and that damn metal pole rammed betwixt his legs.  _ A rod I asked for _ . Natasha had been only too glad to deliver on a promise. 

Whatever it was, he found little reason to complain. The heat burned in his cheeks and lust smoldered somewhere below the spread beltline of his jeans, his unattended cock still savagely hard. 

Was the lack of touch better or worse than the humiliating deliveries into Zola’s sterile laboratories for any number of fiendish experiments to be performed at the puppetmaster’s decree? Truth be told, the fine nails dragging over his chest registered with the same shattering force as prods tacked into his skin, and his muscles jumped in no particular order in response to Natasha scratching through his t-shirt or on his bare flesh.

The groan leaving his throat met no resistance, peppering Steve’s cheek. Ragged breaths split between them while he undulated in slow sine waves against the white ropework binding him to the bed. Steve gently caressed his side and ran his fingers through Bucky’s brown hair, straightening out the tangles while mindful of the blindfold. 

Natasha’s damnable knot remained solid and those sporadic tugs deprived the soldier of sight, though imagination supplied everything he might need. He settled back into fraught silence, warring against himself and the seething need that spread throughout his bound limbs.

The redhead suckled on his captive nipple, the engorged point swollen from the bobby pin that entrapped blood. He no longer much registered more than a dull ache, though she tugged the metal back and forth to restore some hint of sensation. 

“Kiss him,” she whispered to Steve.

No hesitation there. Fingers grasped his chin and turned his head to warm lips and the arrogance melted out of his mouth under that lingering kiss. Ten minutes ago, Cap had been the icon of a shy schoolboy meting out forbidden kisses behind the bleachers. An education by practice helped. The return to confident form after their first hard meeting of mouths told in the bruised swell of Bucky’s lower lip, and a faint sting he ran his tongue over.

That little move intercepted Steve and caught him unawares, the tip of Bucky’s tongue traversing the space between their teeth. A startled noise resonated against their palates, traveling from throat to throat, and right then the sergeant wondered if dying of unfulfilled lust on the spot was possible.

Yes, definitely possible. He ground his buttocks into the mattress with impatience as the tentative flick of Steve’s tongue parted his lips, meeting his teeth and sliding deeper in. Tables turned; no longer leading the dance, he followed and deepened the angle, passion a burning spark that traveled wherever their fingers skimmed over his flesh.

Fireworks detonated en masse around his cooling nipple. Natasha slid the bobby pin free, allowing the constriction to flow again. Obsessed by the open plunder of his mouth, he jerked at the sudden flux of pain rushing out from the flat of his pectoral. His body pulled hard on the ropes, the bedframe lurching and groaning under them.

Steve tore his mouth away, dazed, his face flushed and eyes more black than blue. “Hell’s bells, Natasha. What did I say about hurting--”

She clamped her mouth around the offended nub, sucking the cherry pip of his nipple hard into the sultry heat. Through the dim blaze, he felt her tongue launching a battering assault, the vacuum suction leading to greedy suckling pops. 

Bucky writhed, and the jolting sensation spread heat under his skin to the point he swore his balls and cock would spontaneously combust. One hell of a way to go, as far as he was concerned. Few recipients of a Red Room senior training sessions held out until the end, and he barked a hopeless laugh.  _ The serum probably won’t fix anything if my heart gives out. _

Blindfolds blocked out responses, from the stunned expression to the impish flash in Natasha’s eyes before black lashes swept down, giving her an almost school girl modesty at complete odds with her cheek-hollowing suction. Steve shifted his erection in his jeans, the flame in his cheeks not wholly from embarrassment.

“You can pull the other one off if you want to lend a hand, Cap,” she murmured.

Bucky keened through his teeth at that, back to rolling with the slow tumult dragged through his body, pulling him from the headboard to the pointed toes trying and failing to keep a grip on the footboard. He cursed the spreader bar again, aware of the chafe of denim and the rampant, burning need consuming all his free thoughts. 

She lapped her tongue flat across the bruised point of his nipple, flicking the other bobby pin with her thumb, and shots of red-hot pleasure followed the detonation. More wetness dribbled from his swollen corona, sliding down the well-established path to his bare testes. Or should have, except someone’s thumb intercepted the welling bead before its journey completed.

The intimate brush coursed up the midpoint of the curve to the thumbprint at the underside ridge, a sweet and slow gesture that threw him in a stiff corresponding arch against the ropes. He felt Natasha lean into his chest, pushing him back down, her tongue lashing across his nipple.

And another mouth tentative around the other nub, lips dragging slowly against his skin. Teeth clicked on the bobby pin, and the dull lead throb about stopped his heart. Steve pinched the metal clamp too tight, bleaching out the skin to pale lilac, and he muttered apologies as he slid it away. 

That time, a metal eyebolt ripped out of the wood and slid, jangling, down the white rope overhead. 

The captive soldier spasmed in pleasure, the broken chorus of pleas and gritted notes reaching a brilliant crescendo. Shattered remnants of words broke upon his clenched teeth. Bucky threw his head back and rode the sparkling pleasure-pain all the way to the fire-traced edges of reason. 

Nat’s hand shot out to clamp around the base of his thickening cock, squeezing firmly as she dared, the impending orgasm forestalled from a sudden eruption. In extremis, Bucky was beautiful, shockingly so, his arrogant lips stretched in a shocked oval and tears silver on his cheeks under the blindfold.

Throwing the brakes on climax earned a protesting wail from deep within, and Steve froze, meeting her brilliant, lust-glazed eyes over the heaving chest of their lover. Doubt and wonder hollowed out his cheekbones, his expression mystified. 

Was this how they made love?  _ Screwed. Banged _ . Made love was too pristine for this, implying neat white sheets and dutiful jobs, modest kisses edged by vague embarrassment and shame. Nothing shameful about devouring his best friend and stalwart partner like a ripe plum. Nothing embarrassed about the writhing bodies, the entangled limbs. 

“Well?” she said. 


	6. Glimpses of Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I could take your troubles   
> I would toss them into the sea,   
> But all these things I'm finding   
> Are impossible for me.   
> I cannot build a mountain   
> Or catch a rainbow fair,   
> But let me be what I know best,   
> A friend that is always there.
> 
> \-- Khalil Gibran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally gets his just rewards, and Steve learns there is a first time for everything. Leave comments about what you liked, what could use improvement, and what you look forward to! :)

Steve continued to stare at Natasha, drowning in the darkness of her eyes. He balanced on his knees on Bucky’s left side, while she curled along the prone right, her arm crossing his lower body to lock his shaft in a small, insistent vise. Their breathing flowed in erratic waves, and the bound captive spread-eagled between them uttered soft, unintelligible sounds gone ragged with denial.

He couldn’t cum. Wouldn’t. Not so soon.  

Bewitched, the blond slowly swiveled to watch the steady pressure her thumb applied while her fingers feathered a trail up and down Bucky’s cock. She used his own copious lubricant to paint slick cobwebs upon the skin, and teased out a fresh deluge by stroking and squeezing the base. 

The nod from her encouraged him to reach out, wrapping his fingers around the untouched stretch just below the crown. 

Bucky sensed the tipping point, too, and moaned low, urgent, the bestial tones ripped from the primordial corners of his mortal soul. Here hesitation played no part. 

Steve knew his own body well enough. Not too difficult to adapt from another angle, lacking biofeedback when he lightly ran the ring of his fingers higher and lower. Spongy flesh popped through the curve of his thumb, and he squeezed, easing up when bumping against Nat’s stationary fist.

“You’re gonna kill me.” Bucky’s thoughts spiraled in mercurial lines of light, a whirlpool drilled down into the void. He tried to hold still but the tightening hand gripping him and starting to jack him off with a steady, light rhythm forced compliance. He thrust into their fists.  _ Their _ . 

A dream in the flesh, he dreaded breaking the illusion and waking up in another sweaty tangle of sheets, bed empty, head whirling full of evaporating reveries.

“You’re so good. N-nat,” the quaver of lust broke through, “not yet. Not yet.”

Her lips parted the seal, an obscene smack. “Not yet, Barnes. Don’t even think of cumming.”

“His pants?” A muttered question interrupted Steve drawing circles with his tongue, such a tender counterpoint to the love-bites left by his redheaded lover. 

“Keep them on.” Her tone thrummed full of dark humour and unbridled need, throwing Bucky into a streak of groaning in protest again. Her palm smacked his buttock and he stilled. “Keep quiet. Can you pull them down a little?”

“Don’t stop,” he said, and silenced when fingers tangling in his hair brought him up for a kiss. Who was who didn’t matter at this point, the hard pressure on his lips a welcome relief from the explosive tension making his entire midsection aflame and his legs spontaneously tremble and shudder. 

For once, he was grateful for the ropes and the bar, pinning him in offering to  exquisite collectors. Especially when he felt Steve release his cock and travel just a bit lower, grabbing the opposite sides of his fly. How he was going to maneuver the pants lower without the removing the bar eluded Bucky’s fading logical mind.

Answer came quick enough, pulling his ass off the bed and rough pressure applied along the seam. He heard a grunt of effort and denim tore like paper, his boxers resisting a little longer before they, too, shredded along a seam.

The Russian laughed under her breath. “That’ll do.”

“I aim to please.” Steve hesitated again, looking her again. 

The lengthy silences and tentative movements slew whatever remaining self-possession remained. He’d blush about it later, or suffer punishment with a strike on his ass warming it to pink for impudence. Gauging Natasha’s mood was nearly impossible anyways. Everything was. Not since the girls in France had he entertained multiple partners in bed, certainly not as their supplicant, and never blinded or bound to amuse their wiles. 

Bucky whispered, “Please. Suck me. Let me suck something. Anything.”

Orange perfume teased him, overwhelming the clean soap and leather that retreated, signaling the top of the bed forfeited to the redhead. 

“As the gentleman requests,” she murmured. Metal snapped and fabric rustled in a familiar melody, stripped off or shoved aside. He barely had time to speak thanks before her breast pressed insistently against his parted lips. This he could handle, wrapping his lips around the crown and lavishing low, broad strokes of his tongue to feel the sweet, hot flesh.

Damnable partners that they were, the Widow and the captain exchanged roles. She muffled him effectively by clutching his dark hair, filling his mouth.

The  _ other  _ kiss landed above the fingers restored around his shaft, the separation time no more than a second or two. Might as well have been cryosleep, for he opened his mouth wide in startled, blazing rapture. Natasha’s lithe arms embraced him tighter.

His pelvis bucked in limited vertical travel up to the point Steve barred his forearm from hip to hip, limiting that much motion. Something muttered may have been a platitude, but through the storming pulse in his head, he couldn’t tell up from down, French from English.

All that mattered was the heat, wet heat, enveloping the engorged plum bell-end of his shaft. Steve Rogers was sucking his cock. Moments stretched out like treacle, filling eternity, as the tight ring of his lips rose up and down. Golden hair brushed his inner thigh, chin bumping against his pubic bone. 

Heaven in a single moment of unending tormented perfection.

Nat shuddered under the suckling broken off, and she shifted, rubbing her thighs together. Her stillness lasted only a few further seconds, and then she returned to stroking his chest and pulling on his besieged nipples. Livewire tension poured from his straining length to the twin points eager and hard for whatever merry misrule fit her whims. 

Steve took his sweet time, raising his head and learning some kind of tempo he could sustain. The salty tang wasn’t so alien, and he pushed aside any misgivings. Bucky was crying out around the makeshift gag, thrusting up to meet his lips and so damn thick, so fucking big. 

For a time, they flowed in a tide of rocking and suckling and touching, stroking everything within reach. Deprived touch, the soldier was forced to bask in the blood-hot embrace of them, nestled safely between the kneeling blond and the supine redhead. They cradled him in their affections, sharing the flood of pure lust.

He couldn’t last. Wouldn’t. It was increasingly impossible to stop arching up to offer himself, and every time cool air met his bare cock, the contrast shocked overwrought nerves. Quick firm strokes dazed him; the handjob was too short to do more than knock him breathless, drooling his arousal freely. 

“Don’t forget the plug, baby. We’re not done.” He barely made sense of the whispers poured into his hair, but between her nimble fingers strumming him like a Stradivarius and Steve slurping, louder in his suction, steady as the north star, the bound man was doomed.  

Bucky whimpered, and the flood gates broke, his body betraying the edicts of his will.  

White ropes erupted from him, the first splash of molten het driven down the back of Steve’s throat. He was beyond caring if anyone would swallow or he committed a last cardinal sin. Mercy slid lower, and pulled, a swallow dragging his soul out through the boiling geyser erupting from him that just wouldn’t stop.


	7. Discourse on Pride and Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally gets what he wants. Sometimes all you have to do is ask.

“Steve.” The name rang reverent upon his cracked lips, escaping in spite of himself. Another precious addition into the room perfumed thick by the unmistakable blend of metal oil and arousal.

Once he would have swung a fist into the perfect, smiling face of anyone suggesting he wanted this. Anything to wipe the filthy words out of their mouth.  _ How dare they suggest a friendship was rotten and dirty like that? _

Bitter irony curled his mouth in a smile in the moment before he felt calloused fingers trace the ridges of his lower back and the peak of his buttocks. Rope slithering through steel rings undulated against his stubborn efforts to free himself. But the knots held, reinforced by the thin reinforcing wires and strands cooked up for no purpose other than holding a super soldier.

Stark Technology thought of everything, including bondage gear for all your adult fantasies.

Tony’s face swam into his thoughts briefly and Bucky buried his face in the mattress. The last thing he needed now was any sort of distraction. Admitting it to himself, he wanted a distraction. Anything to keep him from facing the reality that his best friend, the greatest hero of a nation, was somewhere behind him.

The bed barely creaked with the addition of new weight. One knee down between his widely spread thighs angled the mattress to give a little less support. The other following a second later hollowed out a shallow crater, leaving the space between his knees effectively empty.

Bucky groaned. Treacherous noise.

Steve pressed his palm into the rounded line of taut muscle strained by the elaborate rigging. No further motion, only that gesture of wordless support. Every whorl of his fingertips blazed tattoos invisibly upon the brunet’s skin, indelible lines that sank into the roiling turmoil of his belly.

Who knew that comfort could prove as terrible as anticipation of resting on his stomach, ass up, in a darkened room? Tangled hair blotted his cheek as he tossed his head on the pillow, fighting to swallow.

His hole twitched, clamping around nothing, and the tangible weight pulled down on his aching, stiff cock. A fat bead of precut drooled out through the slit, running down the vividly dark tip.

“Oh, Buck…”

The soft murmur behind flooded his ears with the copper hammer beat of his pulse, heartbeat crashing in his constricted chest.

Bucky jerked his ass higher, the crest reaching no more than a centimeter or two. Steve’s hand pressed him back down, demanding compliance in a quiet air of unchallenged authority. He decreed complete stillness in anticipation of what lay ahead.

Broad thumb pads inferred the crinkled rim of the bound man’s anus, brushing around the rosy rim in a languid circle. Swollen from the previous rough treatment laid down in lust, the pucker constricted tight but left a slight, dark pink glimpse of the interior. 

He ought to know better by now. Steve has the patience of a saint and a mind of a devil under his military cropped blond hair. He planned to descend in his own time, and nothing else would move him to compassionate ends short of the Second Coming.

Maybe not even that anymore, but Bucky felt himself in no condition to gauge anyone’s religious predilections, much less when tied up like a sacrificial bull inspected by the high priest.

He tried to shift his hips a little to ease their strain and found no give in the rope. Another knot must be impeding what little slack he had, or somehow Steve pushing him down slightly removed the last freedom he had. Awareness of that shot through him, an arrow in the groin and another in the shoulder. If he hadn’t been hard already, now Bucky was fairly confident he might have an alternate career cutting diamond industrially.

That confident, quiet voice called him back to attention as it had pulled audiences for half a decade. “Focus, Buck.”

“On what?” The hoarse disbelief in his voice warred sass, that old Brooklyn knee jerk response in the face of any authority. An old ghost of the cocky, ne’er-do-well confidence he once possessed. The Soviets stripped him raw but they never quite managed to scrape off those serial numbers.

Digits flexed just a little, no more than a centimeter to either side. He felt Steve’s thumbs press down to either side of his beleaguered hole in a steady assault, testing his resistance. Instinctive clenching against the pressure pulling him open was a doomed cause; they both knew it. Steve had the advantage of patience, and Bucky again tried to thrash in his bonds in a futile effort. Some memories never quite left, the chair and Zola’s face through blurred tears of pain, the shrieking lightning and… and…

“ _ Focus _ . Concentrate.” A sound lower than before, and in his stiffening throes, he lost track of where Steve was other than behind him, still between his legs. Might be preparing to float out the door if not for that steady request massaging his sphincter from the sides. The two approaches on his bewildered mind overloaded rational thought.

Being stretched open was the last taboo, a thrill as hot as it was utterly terrifying for a kid of the Depression. Hell, he barely ever tested those depths when French girls offered to show him a whole new world. Decades ago, he’d been the one to offer a sly grin and a few pointers to fellow soldiers.

Now Captain fucking America was making his pucker gape a little and assessing the results. He about shot his load there into the crumpled sheets.

Ragged breathing ripped through his teeth in serrated waves, shallow and too quick. Dutifully his ass surrendered and he clenched his fists, feeling the whine of metal distantly.

Waiting was always the worst. What to do? Speak soon and lose his cool, or patiently endure? He damn well didn’t feel up to the game.

“You gonna give me a pretty speech all night or are you gonna--”

A curt swat might have been expected. Not the wet lapping tongue dragged over the center of his spread hole.

Bucky raised his head off the pillow and stared blindly at the headboard, strands of his hair clinging to the sweat-beaded skin of his brow, his cheek.

Through the fireworks erupting somewhere in his cortex, he dimly realized Steve Rogers was tonguing his ass.

Steve lowered his head to the spread cleft and gradually dabbed the tip of his tongue over that faint, ruby-throated gap between his thumbs like a hummingbird collecting a few elusive drops of nectar. He went straight to the heart and retreated, each time curling the tip to brush against the spasming ring of muscle that so dearly wished to close up.

Not a chance in hell of that, not while Steve was all but devouring him like a tropical fruit, and no hint of end in sight.

For all that Bucky groaned and bit his lip to stifle some of the louder, insistent noises, he felt no increase to the desultory speed or depth to which he was violated by that wicked, wondrous tongue. His cock thickened and bobbed between his legs, angrily searching for somewhere to Bury itself in willing warm heat.

Were it even humanly possible, he would’ve paid dearly for someone to clone Steve and have those beloved lips wrapped around the fat corona, sucking hungrily on the glans like a French whore.

Pain erupted in a drizzling dazzle of sparks from a light smack to his constricted balls. Not hard enough to really hurt, but the vision shattered in his mind’s eye and he barked out a protesting shout.

No word to focus came from either of them, but he heard that tacit command anyways. His metal hand clenched into a fist, the other clawed at the blanket uselessly. His orgasm crept back, retreating on a dull, throbbing tide to a new peak he didn’t even know existed.

Saliva ran down the narrow seam from his wet hole to his testicles, weaving beads that cooled in their passage. Hot breath steamed over his spread anus; Bucky twitched in the last futile resistance, but the thumbs pried him wider apart for the quiet insolence. A dull burn barely distracted him from the velvet gliding to and fro, moving side to side in lazy, slow swipes.

“Fuck. Steve, fuck…”

“No.”

The answer was short and sweet, punctuated between his tongue dredging fresh parallel lines around the aching little ring. He wanted Steve to shove his thumb past the first knuckle, ram it down to the base and drag the digit back and forth roughly. Give him a shot of cool lube and ream him out, anything, put both in there and let him blossom like a rose.

_ Anything _ to come his brains out, legs bound open by Stark's fucking spectacular rope, arms pinioned over him and not a damn thing, nothing at all, he could do to hurry everything along.

Steve must have sensed the rising desperation because he slowed in his tempo, reverting to lazy half-circles orbiting between the tops of his thumbs. The fireworks died down and the path tingled rather than stung, a slow-burning fuse that would keep Bucky simmering and unable to get over the edge. Nerves lit to highest alert sang when the dense, soft muscle rolled over them, leaving trails of cool, icy fire in their wake.

Back, forth. His tongue went left to right, did some little curlicue, and reversed course without fail once every three seconds. 

One, two  _ oh God  _ his lip dragged on the bottom arc of the rim, three  _ stop _ . A halt gave the struggling man a chance to recapture his splintering thoughts and moan in dread, denied a release.

Then right back, the process mirrored, sliding slick along the irregular crenellations and dips of his spread oval anus and oh, oh, Steve’s thumb slipped inside just barely for better grip and the welcome burn spiked a bit hot.

Redline for a moment, his convulsive clench met with a nip to his buttock, blunt teeth sinking in and imparting a hard bite that would certainly be visible come the morning. Come any hour at all.

Bucky once again jerked and the whole bed creaked, a chorus of alarming metal squalls and wooden thumps answering. He stiffened in anticipation of a spanking that never fell.

Instead Steve thrust the length of his tongue to the heart of the bullseye as far as it could go, giving up on the terse rimming to taste him fully.

The sensation was different from fingers rolling over his prostate or the rare time he tried to trace a finger around his hole while jerking off, as different as a candle flame to the sun.

Still those damn thumbs refused to let him grip at the curling, rolling, lapping tongue buried inside him. Hot lips sealed to the tender skin besieged for what felt like a glacial eon, sucking lewd and loud, pulling his puckered star up to the force while it was stretched from the sides.

He felt the withdrawing and screamed into the pillow, helplessly drooling a puddle of copious, clear fluid. Like anything else, the serum replenished his cum like it ensured his teeth and skin bore no witness to time. His prostate throbbed, his balls heavy with a load that pushed hot and thick against the failing dam holding them back.

Another plunge rammed past his pliant entrance, Steve drilling him deep and slow, in and out, no regular rhythm he could latch onto. It didn’t matter. That hot gyration past the dense nerve clusters fired too much pleasure in a system already overloaded, nervous impressions crackling and burning fast as wildfire through him.

Another bellow ripped from his lips and he was loosing his cum in gouts torn from him in painful, ecstatic waves of molten heat.

Steve relinquished a handhold on his buttock to slide his palm around Bucky’s spurting cock, pushing the shaft flat to his best friend’s quivering belly.

Hard abdominal muscles quaking under the tremor were coated by white cum, and the pent-up burst sprayed a wet line halfway past his navel. Blindly Steve smeared in the viscous, hot jism in lines and circles, coating hard-cut muscle in proof of ardent desire.

His tongue never ceased moving, dragging back and forth through the quivering gateway until he could spread the last of the remnants of cum on Bucky’s anus.

The soldier grunted and jerked, too sensitive, and fully aware the sticky, tacky lubricant drooling into his hole was laid down by Steve’s fingers. He tossed his head to the side, desperate for a view and denied, in the fading burnout glow of climax.

Slurping grew into hard suckles, eager to capture the taste of his arousal around his gaping little ass. The maddening swirl of his best friend’s tongue methodically removed every last trace of his salty tang, and then plunged back inside. Two long jabs brought him shaking to a brink, the exquisite intensity too much to take and utterly, wholly addictive.

Then it ceased, as though his protesting grunts  _ meant _ something.

He could barely lift his head from the pillow. Bucky struggled to form words, shame and fear percolating in around the impenetrable bliss flooded through his slack system.

Why had Steve stopped? Oh God, please don’t let this be wrong, a daydream, something fabricated in the hazy blur of waiting.

The throaty cough resolved into words. “I think you’re ready for the plug.”

Steve pulled his fingers away, admiring how the muscular ring struggled to regain its proper size.

_The plug?_ Bucky barely remembered that shiny black behemoth ordered in a moment of bravado. No point denying his fascination with the handheld pump and the brief video of a girl, eyes wide and shot by lust, announcing to the camera every time a squeeze widened its girth from impressive to nigh monstrous proportions.

He wanted it so bad. The size terrified and seduced his ragged, friction-laden mind.

There was no way he could take it. Even then he knew his eyes were bigger than his… well.

“I can’t,” he whispered, knowing full well the serum would mend any injuries inflicted on him, and the supple resilience of his back entrance was a matter of vague probability than actuality now.

Steve caressed his perspiring back. “You can. I know how much you wanted that, Buck, and I’m willing to help. I always have your back.”

Bucky couldn’t bring himself to look back after all, hanging on the gentle encouragement. Tenderness slid among the obvious lust. Not a word for how hard Steve must be, not an ounce of indecision when being asked to try something so unfamiliar, so out of their league.

His ass ached. More, he needed so much more, for all his dazed mind processed the orgasm as a denied, unfulfilled appetite somewhere.

And here was the key.

“‘Kay,” he blurted out, before his nerve failed him. “All the way.”

Steve brushed brown hair from his face, leaving Bucky’s profile stamped in duress and desire. No hiding even there.

He smiled. “All the way.”


	8. The Path of Love and Reverence

Thank the tech gods for fast, private delivery within forty-eight hours. Something about their terrifying efficiency clouded Bucky’s thoughts while he rested on the bed in the twilit gloom. Such hours belonged neither to day or night, solely to stateless men like him.

He floated on a sapphire sea, the glow of the city barely visible through slashed blinds. As long as he kept his cheek pressed to the pillows, he could ignore the innocuous box sitting empty on the nightstand.

A warm hand waltzed up and down his backbone, nimble fingers hinting at little of the lethal precision or force they unleashed on her enemies. Occasionally he shuddered within his bonds when nails grazed over his sensitive skin. Nat teased by scratching lightly, not enough to cause him actual discomfort, merely keep him simmering at a ragged oil.

Not hard when he lay on his stomach, trussed up by a welter of durable cords devised to withstand even supernatural force hauling on them. His elbows flexed slightly to test for circulation, but Natasha’s beautiful ropework attained the cherished balance of immobilization and artistic symmetry, all without endangering the soldier caught in the Widow’s web.  

“Hey, handsome.” Flaming curls brushed against his exposed cheek and her lush lips conformed his earlobe, an irresistible force that lifted the hairs on his nape. Whispery breaths cascaded in sultry purls trapped against the bare line of his neck, that one point beneath his ear reached with pointed accuracy. Between his spread legs, his shaft stirred to half-hardness; his cock hadn’t flagged after the last pinnacle, a surprising side-effect of the serum.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he managed to find his voice after a creaky start. The usual smooth timbre eroded away to a bit of a rasp, and he chuckled.

She breathed in the heady scent of him, the mellow spiced sandalwood and smoky metal oil blended with sex. His fanned, damp hair clung to his brow, starting to curl while drying, and she brushed the strands to expose his imperious profile to her eager gaze.

“How do you feel about all this?”

All this, such a modest description for the mind-blowing revelation of Steve and Natasha playing him in tandem. He licked his bruised lower lip, the imprint of her rough kisses already fading away from the generous curve.

“Good,” he said.

“Just good?”

Understatement award of the year not forthcoming, he mustered a dazed smile that curled up at the corner. “Beyond my wildest expectations.”

That he could formulate a response beyond blissful monosyllables surprised him, as much as the faint gleam of concern in her brilliant eyes faded away.

She shifted on the bed, twisting from the waist and leaning at a perilous angle to fetch a grey plastic water bottle as though it were nothing. By defying gravity, her confident display of dexterity accentuated his inability to push his knees together a fraction of an inch due to the locked spreader bar. Another of her careful touches to set the stage perfectly betrayed a prima ballerina’s sensibilities beneath his lover’s reserve.

The silicone tip brushed his lips and he lifted his head to ease swallowing a mouthful of tepid water. She patiently held the bottle for several seconds while Bucky drew several sips, none too deep or fast. His t-shirt gathered in wrinkled waves above the shallow curve of his spine, and she sprinkled a few gentle caresses along the natural uplift right to the parting of his buttocks.

Just like that his calming thoughts crumpled into anticipation for the spoken promise minutes ago. Obliging her featherlight touches that ran along the smooth channel, he tried to hitch his hips a little higher, resisted by the Celtic knotwork illuminating his limbs.

Natasha slid off the bed, an attenuated silhouette painted in charcoal and night’s lustre except for the moon-pale oval of her face outlined above her high collar. He luxuriated in the prickling heat cascading through his supine body, a bone-deep satisfaction embellished by the backlit hourglass of his lover.

She caught the black tab on her shirt and pulled it low over the interlocked track, and the teeth slid apart slowly, begrudging an audience haste. Her curled fingers performed their enchantment, exposing a generous swatch of skin and the delicate shelf formed by her collarbone.  

Their gazes held while she tugged harder against the taut resistance at the crest of her breasts. He willed her to pull hard so tension from the imprisoned orbs forcibly parted either side of the corseted panels.

She stopped.

He damn near groaned or whined; unable to decide on either, the sound halted at the back of his throat.  _ One day I’m gonna unwrap her fast just to watch her burst out of her catsuit _ .

Natasha raised a coppery brow slowly, the minute tip of her head challenging the tacit suggestion. They remained deadlocked, two continents grinding to a halt along their margin.

“Naughty.” A swat to his naked buttock stung much more than it had clothed, and the swift bite coursed through his singing nerves right to the core of his nervous system. Fraught anticipation froze a second into a gelid sweep; his breath hitched and pupils bloomed wide in an Arctic sea. Icy tension shattered as he pushed his backside high as he could, almost daring her.

_ Not wise to push _ . She always made good on the gauntlets thrown before her, whether by him or the blond deity performing his ablutions before taking Bucky’s ass.

He licked his lips again, and Natasha focused on the hypnotic skid taken by the point of his tongue across satiny skin.

Despite her exemplary training in sexpionage, seducing and psychologically compromising a target paled beside the simple act of desire. She diverted from the zipper in favour of stripping her jeans, applying little art to tease his already inflamed imagination. Thumbs crooked under the waistband after she unlatched hidden hooks, and slowly she peeled the pants over the swell of her hips. If her movements demonstrated rote finesse rather than her typical calculated grace, blame lay squarely at the bare feet planted to either side of the mattress.

Bucky sacrificed a crick in his neck to watch her fold at her waist to guide the denim legs down the lithe musculature defining her thighs and calves. It paid to claim the opportunities as they arose. By this point he usually tried to shred her garments or they simply never bothered with kicking off clothes, attested by his cotton tee constricting his heat. 

Dimly he kicked from appreciation into attentiveness when his redhead mounted the bed on her knees.  _ She’s not wearing panties. _

A furtive glimpse of the rosy folds informed him belatedly of her sodden state, a fact long since concluded and proven by his pheromone-drunk hind brain. Holy contours plump in arousal formed petals for a holy sanctuary, and he struggled not to crane his head any higher to admire Natasha as she swings her leg up to maneuver over the breadth of his metal arm.

Dying right here and now might make up for all the torment and suffering of his past life, Winter’s horrific memories keeping him up at night.

A narrow perch awaited between his securely anchored elbows and the headboard, scant space for anyone except the ballerina to occupy. Gripping the headboard for support, she dropped in front of Bucky, his nose grazing the soft contours of her mons Venus as she poured herself into the void. Her legs splayed open like sacred gates opening to a crusader knight, tilting her onto her pubic bone. Her thighs hitched against the crooks of his elbows, permitting an incomparable, up-close inspection of that masterpiece of her womanhood.

_ Her pussy _ .  _ My girl’s sweet little cunt needs to be treated right. _ He knew exactly what he wanted to do, a plan unspooling from the moment she settled down. The girl’s a feast to a starving man.

His thoughts whirled with the roseate folds pouting open, exposing a glimpse of her dark fuchsia entrance. Beads melted on the delicate inner petals, and his burning gaze trekked up to the prominent nub partially guarded by its snug hood. She quivered where his breath chilled the hot, glistening trails dewing the slender canyon between her clitoris and the converging point of her folds.

The bed creaked in response to him straining upon the unyielding ropes, fighting their presence. Anything to be closer to his lover on voluptuous offering.

He had to find his voice while she waited with a saint’s patience and a succubus’ body, hunger and need glowing in her hooded eyes.

“Darling, I need to taste you cumming on my lips,” he sayed, gamely resisting burying his face between her legs. Not by chance she positioned herself at the perfect angle where lowering his face placed him square to her slit.

She obliged after a moment, whispering, “Fuck me with your tongue, Bucky.”

The lady needn’t ask twice. After two dizzying orgasm shuttling him to stratospheric highs, he took on this task as a gift rather than a burden. The mere spiced honey scent of her brought his thick cock to painful hardness, pointing straight and true as a spear, but he ignored the absence of warm lips or slick fingers.

That would be coming around sooner than later, a minor thought spared for Steve’s whereabouts.

A sigh muffled against her succulent flesh encouraged her hips to rise sharply. Normally he might weave his arms around her thighs tightly and pin her open, the better to sample her at his leisure, but the game changed as soon as he ended up bound to the bed. She controlled his access, he provided the instruments of her pleasure and his enthusiasm.

One hand held back her left leg, and she extended her right hand to gather up a handful of his espresso dark hair into a messy knot at his nape. Insistent pressure pushed him into her wet slit, his nose nuzzled right up against her pubis. By shaking his head gently side to side, he pushed apart her heavier outer folds for the languid forays of his tongue, sliding flat as low as he can possibly reach with her insistent grip on the makeshift bun.

“Oh Bucky,” she whispered.

He hummed his appreciative response, driving vibrations straight into the clusters of responsive nerves. Natasha bucked again, forcing his chin up, and for a moment their eyes met over the heaving bounce of her breasts.

Shifting his tongue, he pressed the point hard to the upper rim of her entrance and slid along the arc. More finessed approaches were impossible given his limited range of motion, but her palm pinned his head in place so his top lip brushed her cherry-hot clit. At best he could suck at the girl juice pooling just out of his reach, trying to draw it into his mouth.

The pornographic soundtrack of suckling on her tender inner labia mingled with her harder breathing, a roughshod gallop shallow and urgent. He loved little more in the world than the change in her flavour, moving from honeyed to something creamier and richer on his tongue. As the lady insisted, he provided -- unrestrained, he nuzzled in against her pussy harder to seal his lips tighter.

Her wetness drooled off his chin and her raised foot quivered while he ate her like a ripe peach. He nudged her up slightly and her fingers refocused, tugging on his scalp as he strained as far as his bondage allowed, viciously swiping the vulnerable underside of her clitoris.

Battering the shaft brought out the sweetest hissing breath. Natasha rarely screamed in pleasure or vocalized loudly. Forcing her to give voice to real pleasure instead of simulating an orgasm -- the hallmark of her bloody ledger in all its violence -- gave Bucky no little satisfaction, or outright need shot straight into his tightening balls.

He redoubled his efforts with a vengeance, painting crosshatching strokes across the broad crown of her prominent clit. The fat bud begged for the attention he was all too happy to supply. He waited, lapping the underside until she rocked against his tongue, practically fucking his mouth in long strokes that diverted his attentions down to her quivering hole. Heat radiated from the ring of muscle contracted by powerful inner pangs, but with her death grip on his hair, he lacked any chance to taste her slick wetness directly.

Probably for the better. Given the chance to fuck her with his tongue until she came on his face, he would besiege her using every last ounce of energy he had.

Natasha’s eyes closed, lashes fluttering against the blushing contours of her cheek. She guided her lover into position with her hand, relying on slight corrections to position him exactly where her nerves sang for the lavished praise and affection. Her cream flowed out of her freely in a cataract drizzled down her folds to the span of her perineum, and she rocked in slow undulations to maximize the contact of his velvety tongue dredging through her folds.

Time slowed to a glacial creep while he finally found his opportunity, pressing the circle of his lips flat around the captive bud and suckling. Natasha’s cries began soft, barely more than plaintive moans. He pulled her clit by suction alone from under its hood, exposed to his eager lapping. Stinging tugs on his hair hardly halted him from devouring her, alternating between laving her clean of the familiar taste and sharp, quick pulls that hollowed his cheeks out.

Her pearl he treated just how Steve sucked his cock, the mere memory constricting his puckered star and leaving a fat bead of precum suspended on the blunt bell-end. His shaft bobbed, and she pushed lightly at him, but Bucky retorted by tenderly nipping at the base of her pearl.

Natasha’s startled aria shattered the cozy intimacy. Surprise brought her off like a geyser, squirting her girl cum on his face. He groaned low in his throat, refusing to relinquish his prize. Her swollen clit throbbed again as her contracting pussy sought something to clench around, finding only an unsatisfying void. She tried to pull back from him, but flush up against the headboard, slid barely half an inch or so.

He punished her for the denial by tenderly nipping again, his blunt teeth snug upon the exquisite pearl for a decadent, controlled stretch out from her rose petal folds. His tongue battered the blunt end while her hips undulated in rougher gyrations, inflicting the intense pleasure on surging, wildly overloaded circuits.    
  
Another gush poured out of her, and he purred right onto the jewel held firm between his pursed lips.

She tried to push away again, but a firm, large hand engulfed hers and pushed Bucky’s head flat up against her exposed slit. Something heavy fell on the bed, rolling between his knees, but he could hardly spare a thought for what landed, much less anything but the sensual heat and sensory overload of Natasha’s rising climax.

“God, that’s pretty as a picture.” Steve guided his best friend back and forth, helping build that hard suction. “Let us pleasure you, Nat. Cum on his face.”

She shook her head, tangled fiery curls flying around her shoulders.

Bucky couldn’t have said it better himself. He sagged in his bonds, surrendering to being drowned under the teetering wave. Minute flutters flexed under his lips and tongue, and he pulled in as much breath as he could, swallowing so her captive pearl danced under the assault of his tongue.

“Can’t, I can’t.” Above him she protested in broken fragments of song, her head tilted back against the headboard.

He tried to tilt his head high enough to see the blond, focused and stripped naked, a glistening image as mouthwatering as Natasha in the last desperate ascent towards her impending peak. Another pang of raw need raced through him, leaving Bucky shuddering at its force.

The minute nod concurred with the strategy. So many times in the dark woods of Western Europe or in bombed out towns on the front, they forged plans and bonds without much more than a word and silent, judicious surveys of the landscape. The same routines fell back into place, and like he so often did, the sergeant let his captain take the lead.

Together, they broke her. Steve’s hand slid down to push her folds wide apart, improving the seal of Bucky’s lips upon the length of her slit. She watched through a glazed stare as her lover lapped at her pussy, gathering up the warm dew, and besieged her with his blessed tongue until her hips bounced up and down uncontrollably for release.

He paused just once to whisper, “Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum hard for us.”

Steve stroked her with his thumb, smearing around her copious honey. Bucky lowered his head to capture the taste with a lick, devoting the pass of his lips over the pad and somehow managing to engulf both finger and her together.

Natasha cried out again, her back sharply arched as her head fell back. In her position she could scarcely gain any leverage, only grip her thigh for dear life and pray, in some distant corner of her rational mind, she didn’t pull a clump of hair out from Bucky as he diligently tongue-fucked her to completion.

The climax steered out of control, bursting with violent force upon his tongue and his lips. He swallowed as she erupted, cream splattered on his upper lip and coating his tongue in a decadent flood. Steve’s fingers provided the necessary bracket as he kept lapping her up, stroking from her perineum up to her unhooded clit.

Even after she ceased cumming, she shook under his gentle kisses, overcome by feverish pangs that rattled her to the moorings.

Stepping back, Steve cupped the upturned curve of Bucky’s backside, holding on firmly, kneading.

“Don’t move, either of you,” he said.

Natasha tipped her head to the side, unfocused gaze rising to the blond.

“You’re going to fuck him with the plug.”

It wasn’t a question. It never was a question. Bucky whimpered against the sweet relief of her inner thigh, chasing his breath to have any hope of a coherent response.

“Yeah.” That was the quiet voice of a man in control of a situation, concern and confidence the twin foundations upon which Steve built every decision. “He makes love to you, and I…”

Bucky shut his eyes. Nothing else needed to be said. He didn’t know what on earth brought him to such a blessed place and time with these people that cherished him as he did them.

Warm liquid dripped onto his already prepared hole, accounting for the long absence. For all he knew, Steve ran to the nearest drugstore to buy more lube. Pressure lurched him forward into Natasha’s slick pussy again, and he moaned aloud as the mistaken reports around his tight ring revealed a desperate need for reassessment.

No, not lube.  _ Steve’s rimming me again _ . He about near shot his load out, but the tender squeeze to his shaft deflected that outcome right away.

“Mm, not til you have the plug in.” Nat was firm, the iron in her request shown despite the airy softness left by her climax.

Anticipation had a firm hold on him again, and the diversion of eating Natasha out wasn’t going to halt their obvious next move to open him with that big inflatable plug. Steve’s tongue drove deeper into him on a series of staccato thrusts, and he in turn drew circles around Nat’s sensitive entrance. What else could he do? The spreader bar jingled now and then, his roped limbs forced into an inviting spread.

He kissed the fingertips pressed close to his lips, murmuring sweet nothings against Natasha’s hand. One plea they both heard despite the low, muffled volume; soldier and assassin collectively sighed.

“Stretch my ass.” A beat. “Please.”    


	9. Conquest of Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally takes the inflatable dildo. Steve pushes him to his limits, and a little beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a counterpart to One Night Only (https://archiveofourown.org/works/13623696), the follow-up. When Bucky wants the plug again, Steve is there to deliver.

“Stretch my ass.”

Three words spoken in reverent desperation while Bucky writhed against his bonds. The ropes did their job admirably, preventing him from twisting or pulling more than an inch or two in either direction. A firm metal rod parted his ankles embarrassingly far apart, allowing no dignity in secrecy. His dripping, ringed cock throbbed between his spread thighs in time to the wet tongue circling his reddened pucker with diligence usually reserved to someone polishing the royal silver.

He looked up into Natasha’s beatific expression, the sum of the world encapsulated in her keen blue eyes and ghost of a smile. Lust transfigured her into a fallen saint, her swollen lips parting for her quickened breath.

A beat later, he swallowed. “Please.”

Silence ruled in the wake of his confession. His gaze descended in a slow trek along her quivering stomach and her bare pubic bone, down to the dewy blossom of her pussy. He sucked at her plump outer folds one by one, drawing the succulent labia out between his lips.

She tasted like fresh honey and a deeper tang of musk, and he gladly suckled every trace of a fresh orgasm away. Breathing the scent of her heady femininity left him almost drunk, head swimming in the pheromones, a situation magnifying the fluttering of his tight ring under the siege of Steve’s warm tongue.

Restraints inhibited any ability to press backwards to meet the swipes painted in crosses over that tender whorl unfurling before Steve’s eyes. The softening pink almost begged to draw him in, and he obliged by rimming the inner contour again.

Bucky moaned into the splay of wet folds held open for him by the redhead’s slim fingers. Slow laps imbued heat and electricity through sparking nerves, and in turn compelled him to nuzzle deeper into the sopping wet offering laid out before him. The point of his tongue followed the sticky beads to their source, guided lower to her entrance. He dredged her pussy liberally with faster laps, dancing around the hole.

Fresh into the afterglow, Nat raised her hips involuntarily, the demanding grind pressing against his full, yielding mouth. Stifled cries held in check by her gritted teeth and clenched throat fooled neither man, nor did it slow their mutual efforts.

Bucky cried out into the muffling curve of her sodden folds when the breadth of Steve’s tongue slid inside him, lips a hot seal to his hole. He strained to hold still when every volition urged him to lunge away from the obliterating pressure and raw newness of it all, and thrust himself back to take it all in.

Deprived the use of his hands and even the choice to thrust, he swallowed the taste of girl juices on his lips and running down his chin. Wetness smeared across his mouth in a glaze when she jerked away in a burst of sensitivity, panting for breath. Each bounce of her lips left her gleaming wet, her contracting entrance trying to resume its normal petite proportions.

_ Not on my watch.  _ Once more Bucky went into the brink, nestled at the apex of her thighs. Her knees lifted to further cushion him, depriving Nat of all natural defense. Exactly how he wanted her, spread and taking the tongue-lashing he imparted on her vulnerable slit, keening in nonsensical Russian.

The task absorbed him, his body a relay from the electric dance around his dark star up to her copious slickness pouring out as she flexed under him. Natasha planted a foot on his shoulder, likely by chance, and he vibrated from the staccato rattle of her heel knocking harmlessly off the metal.

God, he loved her losing control, arching for him and fighting to hold herself open. Her rosy clit beckoned for the occasional swipe of his tongue just to watch her shake harder than a winter leaf in a storm. Something cracked deep inside when her pearl throbbed and stood erect from its hood, an act of beauty no less gorgeous than a sunrise.

He quivered as the weight on the bed shifted and the mercurial heat anointing his pucker departed. With it the breath escaped his lungs, strangled between a groan and a mourning hymn.

“It’s only for a minute,” Steve soothed him from somewhere in the dim room, close enough at hand the heat of his body brushed incredibly sensitive skin.

Bucky shook in anticipation, for the departure meant only one thing. The two better angels of his nature planned on giving him exactly what he asked for although they already surpassed every expectation by light years.

Nat shook beneath him and he shot a guilty look up at her, pressing a soft kiss perpendicular to her folds. His voice he did not trust to convey anything other than plaintive babble. She fought against arching, her feet pulled high and knees tilting back to her chest in obvious demand of what she wanted.

Needed. His girl needed to come messily and hard after waiting so patiently.

He delivered, racing his tongue in a narrow vee down the trough right under her clit to her entrance. Sweeping back up the other side left her wetness puddled on the lower rim of her entrance, begging to be lapped up. Every crenellation and nook he passed over, giving special attention to the blossomed inner labia. 

While he worked, Steve carried the lubed black plug to its intended target. The toy rested heavy and firm in his palm, wagging a long silicon tail fed by a handheld ball. Attracted by the motion, Natasha’s eyes widened through her aroused stupor.

The blond knelt between the spread of Bucky’s legs, the bar jangling in anticipation. Even in its uninflated state, the toy had a certain bulk and heft impressive relative to its glossy surface. He maneuvered the rounded tip into place, brushing lightly over the softened whorl.

The bound soldier froze for a long moment, his skin tingling from the smooth stroke.  _ It’s really happening. _ Dim fears rose through the bright heat of desire and crashed down again. Another nudge dragged on the rim of his pink hole, and the shock went through Bucky again as the blunt head pressed down. Seeing the toy in the cardboard shipping box was entirely different from feeling its size.

Now or never.

Driven by nameless need, he strained at the ropes, struggling to push him back in offering. They squeezed his thighs and pulled on his arms, allowing little progress. Veins stood out on his good arm.

The toy rolled against his puckered entrance, lined up with the slowest corkscrew that intended to open him slowly. Not the skewering he imagined in his fantasies, as Nat’s slim fingers struggled to handle the girth, and Steve’s palm forced the bulbous end down.

He needed to take it all without hesitation or remorse, stripped of the decision. Tension snapped in his body and his cock throbbed again, hard, the intense churn of heat blockaded by the mercilessly effective silicone ring snapped tight around his base.

With slow, deliberate gravity, Steve worked open the elastic pink ring to its nearly maximum diameter. The black toy had all the grace of a battering ram at the rosy gate, effective if rather brutal. Muscle clung grudgingly to the well-lubricated surface, the rough slide on the polished blackness completely hypnotic. He rubbed his thumb along the thinned out ring, and jumped at the muffled cry.

Drowning under her own lust, Nat arched her back, her head thrown against the headboard. Rope stretched out around her, the profane wings of an erotic seraph caught in divine raptures. 

  
“Give it to him.” In her pleas, the iron edge of command bubbled up.

Steve pushed, and he watched in breathless fascination as the ring engulfed the flaring bell of the head. Natural contours and grooves proved life imitated art, and he let out the air he unconsciously held when the swollen rim squeezed down again.

“That’s just the start,” he murmured, more to himself than either the bound man starting to shake or the dewy redhead.

Big.  _ So big.  _ He asked to be stretched and they obliged him, pushing in the toy. He felt the indomitable presence pressing him apart, dilating his anal ring. Widening it at first, and then further, taking him past the point of two fingers and still it kept going. He lapped at the sweet flesh with chaotic, unplanned strokes of his tongue, anything to detract from the slow burn engulfing him from behind.

How huge was that thing? He jerked helplessly in his bonds, the steely bar unyielding to efforts to shut his legs. Presented to Steve, he could no sooner stop the tide than halt the slow plundering of his ass -- exactly what he wanted. More of the dildo displaced the void inside, the initial narrowing giving room to breathe. Shallow, rapid breaths delivered hardly enough oxygen to sustain thought, and the rest he lost sucking the wetness from the redhead’s drooling pussy.

The advance ended sometime around the next election, the gradual feeding inch by inch into his hole governed by a man with infinite patience. Unable to keep from stroking himself one-handed, the captain turned the black cylinder into firmly planted between Bucky’s spread buttocks. Before reaching the three-quarter mark, he tried to jerk against the invader, demanding more. Steve refused to be moved, his fist gliding faster up and down his slippery cock while forcing the plug home ever so slowly.

The black hose hung down, the pump swaying in pendulum arcs. Only the flared end stood out, the wide circumference forcing the reddened sphincter to a width that made his balls tighten.

“How many?” His question hung in the air.

Bucky gasped and suckled on Nat’s clit, nursing the round bundle of nerves as she tossed her head. Her mussed curls spread over the wall in a flaming veil. Fingers dented parallel lines where she gripped her thighs as hard as she could, bleaching even her fair skin.

“F- _ five _ ,” she choked on the word. He sucked hard on her pearl, lavishing five strokes with the flat of his tongue in gratitude.  

A gush of wetness geysered over Bucky’s lips seconds after she screamed his name.

He missed the first wheeze of air pumped down the tube into his dully burning pucker -- no, stretched now into a  _ hole.  _ His fuck hole, stuffed by a black plug Steve Rogers commanded.

The riot of activity at the head of the bed dulled some of Steve’s natural caution and he pumped the base of the plug a few times to assure the pliability in his best friend’s beautifully spread ring. Bucky rode out the column nudged into his guts, planted face first into sweet cunt, and drinking down everything he could. His engorged cock stood at painful attention, darkening to a mouthwatering red-violet.

Another squeeze drew out a collective moan, as though they all shared one breath. The toy bulged deep within, prizing his channel open, the most indescribable of sensations. He could only imagine how the end bulged out, how fat his plug must be.

Steve kept slowly drawing the end up, his mouth open as he saw how much wider the toy was. One squeeze visibly enhanced the girth and, seeing that, he couldn’t help himself from squeezing the ball again with a quarter of the dildo pushed out from Bucky’s hole just to see how it expanded again.

He spoke in a distant, lust-thickened announcement. “It’s bigger than me and that’s three.”

A smothered whimper responded to him. Nat filled her hands with dark espresso hair, steering Bucky to tongue her quivering entrance. He tongue-fucked her, icy eyes shut and face dripping with slickness. Palms pressed to the back of his head in time with the rhythmic slow fucking of his ass, filling him from both ends. 

Shudders greeted the profane whistle of another volume of air displacing the internal structure of the shining black plug. Somehow Bucky managed to accommodate that, reaching proportions he could barely imagine. The heavy weight assaulted his passage, filling it by pushing the walls apart. Every slide rubbed up against the velvety contours on a slick of lube. Better yet, it pressed up against that hidden spot secreted inside and never let up, given Steve never hauled the toy further than two thirds of the way out.

He didn’t dare, unsure what might give. The way Bucky took the toy was mesmerizing, demolishing what remained of Steve’s composure. His thumbs traced the descent of smooth buttocks to the raised rim cratering inwards to accept the toy.

“More?” he asked.

The frantic toss of Bucky’s head answered while the redhead gave voice. “Yeah. Another three and see how he does.”

_ Three.  _ He registered that as she spoke, drifting in a glistening fugue. Whimpers became convulsive cries as the fat plug delved down into the very abyss of his being, squeezed through the second inner ring he never even knew existed -- a banding presence gone alight as he waited, shaking for the next volley.

They were not delivered slowly, but in two bursts of movement that split the world asunder. The time before, at what he thought was big and the after, when  _ full _ became blindly stuffed. Every small rotation churned his awareness and he rested his cheek against the soft inner thigh pillowing him. His pupils wide and stare fixed, he saw nothing but felt everything, stretched thin as cellophane.

Stroking his cheek, Nat lolled in place, watching the upturned curve of his ass. Watching the fucking. Fucking in the most loving way. Steve palmed the base and nudged the inflated plug down to the narrowed neck, although narrow was a misnomer. That slim point matched three of his fingers formed into a cone. Gradually the toy slid back out a little as Bucky’s body gathered its last defenses to push back a little.

On the next pump, the quivering muscle couldn’t even muster that much resistance. Steve dropped the hand pump, afraid to go any further. He gently stroked Buck from the bow of the spine down to his buttock. Unending shivers and perspiration cooled the path.

“Turn him.” Nat barely had voice left to ask.

Steve shook as he tenderly gathered the brunet in his arms. It fell to him to roll their lover onto his back while Natasha dealt with the ropes, releasing a generous amount until the lines slid slack. Or at least more slack than they had been.

Bucky scarcely followed their movements, only aware of the huge presence grinding with every micromovement deep inside him. Flutters relentlessly besieged his core and the glowing heat gave him awareness entirely -- only -- for the inflated plug. He hung slack in Steve’s arms and only grunted when laid out, the spreader bar a clanging bell int he background. The position nudged the base through his stretched anal ring, driving it up into imagined depths. Rendered insensate for a dazzling moment, he moved against the large insertion, fucking himself on it.

The blond captain faltered at the sight, squeezing his cock repeatedly to stave off an orgasm on the spot.

Natasha rolled off her hip to straddle Bucky’s midsection, swaying as she did. The climaxes disturbed her centre of gravity and she nearly toppled onto him, catching herself at the last minute. Her heavy breasts bounced off his chin and rolled against his throat, and he kissed at the round weight. Plaintive moans filled the air, adding to the scent of sex and spice. 

“Just wait, just a…” Her voice cracked as she gripped his throbbing cock. Despite having him inside her an hour before, the anticipation tightened her deep channel. Steve watched while she levered herself up just above the tip, holding Bucky steady. Then she descended, her weight doubled on the plug, pushing him down onto the fat toy.

His mouth opened for a scream that never came. While given sufficient strength to throw the redhead off, he lifted his hips a little to meet her, still restricted by the spreader bar and the ropes. She found a rhythm quickly, pushing herself high and dropping down, in effect shuttling him between the inflated dildo and the molten silk of her pussy.

Steve gently clasped his face, tilting his head back. Tears welled up under lowered lashes as the tempest of lust overtook any rational sense. He took the tip of the large cock poised at his mouth, instinctively sucking.

“Oh  _ Buck.  _ Suck me.” Prayers to the gods were spoken with less fervour.

He stroked in slowly, letting the bliss struck soldier adjust to the girth and length. Steve withdrew a fraction and slid forward, mimicking the pace of stuffing the dildo into the greedy whorl.

Bucky swallowed without any artifice, moaning constantly around the cock gagging him. The glans swiftly brushed up against his throat, dutifully held back to avoid cutting off his air supply. Not that it mattered, for he held just enough awareness to wrap his lips around Steve’s shaft and slurp. His throat muscles contracted, willing depth.

All wishes granted. Another thrust bluntly rubbed up against his throat muscles and the silky heat milking his shaft landed just so, grinding the plug right onto his prostate. Bucky probably screamed in bone rattling pleasure, the noises stifled in his throat, percussive vibrations enveloping that hot, heavy cock.

It plunged into his throat, and the tip passing the ring of muscle, silencing him like a cork. Steve’s balls beat against his upper lip and nose, shifting to the deep, plundering strokes.

Natasha leaned forward across Bucky’s taut, arching body for the blond. The movement pulled her higher, revealing the cum-stained shaft by inches to the cooler air. She managed to grab Steve’s shoulder and pull him in to her, his expression nearly as unfocused as her own.

Their lips met awkwardly at first, given the angle. He leaned forward and raised one hand to her hair, the other palm tenderly cupping Bucky’s face. Nat plunged her tongue into his mouth, meeting his own, a duel fought while they both used their lover as the fulcrum from their passions.

She moved too fast. Completely lost to the silken fist fucking his cock and the plug pounding his anal ring at the same speed as the one in his throat, Bucky arched up in one final sprint for release. They stroked him and rode him, used him as a fuck toy and the object of their adoration and worship. Sensation assaulted him from every direction and finally snapped him free.

He came, not with a whimper, but a soul-deep quake and cry. Natasha soon wailed as the rush managed to escape past the snug ring and filled her again, a warmth spread deep, deep inside. Her weight pinned Bucky down despite his hard thrusts, jostling the plug around to prolong his orgasm.

The tightening muscles around his cock set Steve off a moment later. He gave one more thrust, unable to keep from mashing up against those full, hot lips milking him. His own load shot deep down Bucky’s throat, the bare outline of his cock possibly visible in that snug passage.

Moments slid into incandescence before the pyramid broke apart. A trail of cum lay glassy on Bucky’s lips, his body gone completely slack for a time. Conditioning -- a carryover of the old days -- catapulted him from ecstasy into a full disassociation to everything beyond his spent body. Natasha collapsed atop him in a blanket, warm and prone, secure.

Steve fell onto the bed and somehow managed to curl himself up against, them, throwing his arm across the redhead’s back and pulling Bucky’s head to his shoulder.

He shut his eyes, sliding away into rapture.


End file.
